It's finally up. A million and one apololigies and whatnots. I could place here a thousand excuses starting with "holidays are a sheer nuisance" however, that just wouldn't be right. Thank you for everyone who has favorited/alerted this story thus far. I will be updating several times within this month for the sake of being forgiven. ;[ Also, this chapter is a wee bit short, simply because I need to space out all the events. Don't want them all in one...
DISCLAIMER: Do. Not. Own. Harry. Potter. +and do not get paid for writing this story, like how Jo had+ 3JO!
Peter Pettigrew cried out in horror, his lungs reaching the utmost capacity of screaming out the pain and torture placed on him. Writhing, twitching, gurgling nonsensical pleas, bright eyes dulling behind uncontrollable tears. Voldemort smiled at his work. He watched pleasurably at the beautiful sight of control and power, of what his servant deserved.
"You've failed me again, Wormtail," the Dark Lord hissed menacingly, each word grating more pain into the ever-moving form splayed out on the carpet before him. "You. Have. FAILED!" Wormtail unleashed his most high-pitched scream of the night, echoing off the warded walls and bouncing delightfully about the Master's body.
The lump of a body arched its back wrenchingly high, neck craned, wrists twisted in some impossible manner. "P-p-p-pl..M-mmmm-master…ple..se.." Wormtail whispered with a dry and sobbing throat, eyes squeezed tight against the onslaught.
"Why, Wormtail? Tell me, why should I stop?" Voldemort inquired with great curiosity, his huge, snake-like eyes probing the thrashing form which continued its mumbles of release from such monstrosity, a small grey head tilting in an innocent manner. Wormtail began to open his mouth to answer, knowing that there would be far more than just the cruciatus to deal with if he disobeyed his Master.
Pettigrew yelped as his body was suddenly flung onto the opposing wall, body splayed out as if he were placed on a target board. Voldemort held his finger in the air, flicking it once. The servant's head slammed against the wall with a sounding thud. A whimper escaped the small man's throat, eyes screwed tight.
"You have wasssted enough of my time. I should disspose of you, however-" the Dark Lord slowly dropped his index finger, the body following suit, grating against the loose wood as it drew closer to the ground. The servant whined and sputtered illogical begging, splinters lodging themselves beneath the flesh on his arms and hands, some spiking through his robes on his back.
"I understand that the tasksss I have given you, and you alone, have been much too complicated for a low endowed brain such as yourss. In that case, I will give you another chance." The body hit the ground, and the magic rolled off of Wormtail, leaving him gasping for breath and claw at the heavenly wooden floors. "For, of courssse, I am very forgiving to thosssse who will follow me, Wormtail."
"Th-thank thank you, Master. Please, M-Master-"
"Sssshhh, my dear sssservant," a tiny hand reached forward, beckoning the man to him. Pettigrew approached warily, eyes casting everywhere but at the red eyes that now held fast to his moving form. "Yesss, come to me. Aaah~"
Cold, deadly fingers made way into gold, gray locks and gripped. Wormtail whimpered, his face contorting into the frightened rat that he was. The hold relaxed, slightly. "Bring me Sssseverussss, Wormtail."
The rat shook uncontrollably, eyes quivering in their sockets. "Wh-what? S-Sn-Snape, my Lord?" That was utterly incredulous! Why Snape of all people! The man had probably moved on without wanting to be in the Dark Lord's presence anymore!
The fingers threaded themselves into what hair was left on the man's head. "Yesssss," the voice hissed in a tone of one who dearly missed his lover. "I need him now. Bring him to me, Wormtail, and do not return until he is with you, do you understand?"
The hand dropped to tap the rat's head up, red locking with dulling blues. "Go," the thin lips ordered, Wormtail practically fleeing off of his knees and running down the stairs, across the wide dining hall and out the doors, Disapparating on the spot into Hogsmeade.
Voldemort curled more into his chair, his ever distant mind seeking solace on believing his beloved servant would come for him any moment now, to save him, to accompany him. The Potions Master, after all, had been his most faithful, his most treasured.
"Severusssssssss."
Sitting on a chair in a dark classroom, a dark form hunched over his desk from grading seventh years' preposterous excuses of essays for their N.E. shot his head up as the searing throbbing sensation of being called thrummed through his left arm.
The black-robed Potions Master was out of his chair in the next instant, flying across the stairs like his given nickname, robes bursting behind him in a wondrous display of a bat.
Snape flung the door to the infirmary, his breath nearly spent as he crossed the long rows of beds until he reached the very one he had intended. His sigh of relief flooded the aching suspicion in his mind as well as his hammering heart. The boy was safe.
So safe, Snape felt his sneer crawl on his lips, that the foolish boy had somehow tangled himself in the sheets and now laid spread-eagled across the bed, one arm hanging off the edge along with its pair of a leg, another arm bent with a hand lifting up the boy's pajama top to expose a slip of lightly tanned skin. In the candlelight, sheer gold.
Versatile wrench.
The throbbing commenced. Snape doubled over at the immense pain coursing through his veins, following up through his arm and now shoulder. It would only get worse if he did not heed the call.
But, where was he to go? Dammit, it all. Why did Dumbledore have to leave now? Foolish old man!
Scrambling into one of the chairs that would magically conjure itself to visitors, Snape panted heavily. Groaning, the sound in the silence echoing, he slacked his body, head lolling onto the back of the chair to stair upwards at the tall, bare, beige-colored ceiling which angled to a tip. He focused his hearing on the boy's soft breathing, picturing how peaceful the prat could actually be when knocked out. This thought caused a slight twitch at the edges of his lips.
His elbows rested gently against the armrests, hands knotted within his lap. His thoughts were currently on the boy who laid in the bed before him. Potter had somehow become much more of a pain in the ass than ever before.
The damn insufferable dunderhead had penetrated into his thoughts the night before, and literally seeked out a specific thought chain in Snape's memories. Snape had felt the pull of an actual practiced Legilimens as Harry barged into his mind.
The boy had wanted to be an Auror. What if he had become one?
Snape dropped his head to look at the contented sleeper, glasses askew on a small, cropped nose, hair a mess with a small glimpse of the scar peering through his fringe. Staring too long, Snape found it disgustingly…revolting.
James in the flesh, scarred by the Dark Lord.
The hatred seared within him, his hands itching to grab at the wand just hidden in his sleeves. And then, a flash of pain from his left arm had him stilling in both his thoughts and breathing, and a certain scampering sound of feet darting across marble floor.
No. It couldn't be.
Snape sat up straight, eyes frantically searching the room around him. The candles continued their flickering dance of shadows against the walls, the room quiet and suddenly chilled. The warming charm which normally remained until the dawning of the sun had somehow dissipated.
Slowly, Snape took out his wand and lit the end, the harsh reminder of his arm tingling giving thought all was not well. A voice shrilled loudly, piercing the professor's eardrums. He spun around in place, wand light landing on the boy who was writhing and screaming, the sheets tangling themselves moreso around the form, glasses flown off completely to the ground with a clatter.
There was a bang down the hall and a shuffle of feet. Again, Snape spun on his heel to see a small form fly down the hall, the face of a much disturbed Madam Pomfrey lighting up as she neared to them. She stopped just by Harry's feet, worry and confusion written in the shadows on her face as one hand ghosted over the boy's ankles, the other holding her wand.
Harry continued his blubberings, tears evident on his lashes, falling off to the sides of his face.
"What's going on?"
Severus turned to the nurse who glared at him, prompting him the suspect. He snorted, turned his own glare fierce and hard. "Do not even THINK I have anything to do with this. I was merely…" He stopped himself. Making sure the Dark Lord hadn't killed him yet? Just watching him sleep? Instead, Snape indicated the boy.
"Albus had told me to keep an eye on him. Make sure he does not get any other rash decisions of going to the Quidditch pitch." Safe choice. "I came just before he started rampaging like a madman. Did you not give him Dreamless Potion, Poppy?" Snape had rounded the bed and now stooped over the thrashing body, brows wrinkling. He hesitantly placed a hand on the boy's shoulder to attempt to stop the movements, if only but a small bit.
She rolled her eyes. "Of course. The boy'd be bent on getting up if I hadn't. This Potter is nothing short of his father." Snape stiffened, watching the woman hasten to the opposite side of the Gryffindor and wave her wand about him. "I thought it Minerva's job to keep this child in place, not yours," she observed, a questioning brow raising high into her locks. Suddenly, Harry whimpered, neck craning, fists balling, toes curling, eyes screwed shut handing Snape yet another safety net to fall into.
"Sev'rus…"
The name that rolled of his lips stunned the both of them in place, Poppy moments away from shocking the boy back to Earth stilling the process with wand in mid-wave, the unfinished enchantment leaving a trail of wispy white in the air. Snape felt his eyes grow wide and jaw slacken, heart raging against such an unforeseen event.
Harry Potter had spoken his name. Not just any name. Harry Potter had whispered his given name with such…feeling, not anything like hate. Before the Potions Master could register enough of the scene taken place, the boy lunged forward and grabbed Snape from the collar, green eyes snapping open to entrap obsidians, a pleading call behind the glare.
"Don't. Do. That."
The tears that fell from those fierce emeralds made it hard for Snape to push away, but push away he did, the boy's eyes lidding and falling back into the bed almost instantly.
"Well," came Poppy's voice from Snape's side after a long while, disturbing the silence. Snape stood rooted to the floor, eyes glued to the lapse form on the bed. "Uhm, right, then. I guess we should wake him up-"
"No," Snape intervened, grabbing the nurse's wrist lightly, but firmly. He held her eyes which sparked with suspicion and dropped her gaze to his hand on her wrist. He let go in an instant, clearing his throat, nervous suddenly for an unknown reason.
"No," Snape tried again. "Let the boy rest. The worst seems to be over, after all." Harry snoring lightly away without any inclination that he had an outburst just moments ago gave Poppy enough to nod and agree with a soft 'hmph' before looking back up at Severus.
Her lips curled into a soft, benign smile. Snape was taken aback. "You should get some rest, too, dear. You look right ghastly, pale as a ghost I might say." She chuckled and shook her head, masses of grey sweeping across her shoulders.
"All right," the medi-witch flicked her wand in the air, administering the warming charm again before bidding another goodnight, sweeping one last check-up on the boy and placing his fallen frames on the bedside table before disappearing behind her doors again.
After a few long moments, Snape finally sat down, exhausted more than ever. He trained his eyes on the boy, the scene of Potter's frantic name-calling and pounce replaying over and over in his mind.
As the body hit the side of the glass, the echoing sound of it gliding down onto the ground, Harry fought the urge to pound ferociously at the wall, tears already glistening at the edges of his lashes. He had been too late, but if he revealed himself now, the Dark Lord would end his life then and there. He couldn't risk that. No, not when Snape was the very one giving his life up…
For him…again…It was fucking happening again! A FUCKING SECOND TIME!
Harry cursed himself over and over, holding back a sob. Ron placed a hand on his shoulder, Hermione laying her hand on his. This helped Harry to control himself better. If he lost it then, they would be lost as well.
After what seemed like hours, Voldemort walked away with Nagini, the slurping, sloshing sounds of its wet body scurrying after her master. Harry bolted up and ran through the entrance at the cracking sound of Apparition, spending no time to land on his knees hard, ignoring the pain, grabbing out the vial Snape had given to him. He uncorked it, trying his damn best to not stare hard at the oozing blood formulating around the form.
The man's pale complexion was covered with sweat and thick, crimson liquid. His obsidian eyes were fading, fading from life. Harry shook as he tipped the vial over his professor's mouth, sputtering as his hand shook. Snape couldn't move too much, so gargled as much as he could, choking when the liquid didn't enter into his throat properly.
Harry pulled away, ripping off his shirt and applying pressure to the main wound on the man's neck. "Don't…Don't move." Snape would have rolled his eyes if he could, but watching the boy fret with those green orbs, he could not help himself but to watch, gulping away the bile-tasting potion in his mouth.
The brat had been right. Voldemort was intent on killing him, seeing as he was the one who killed Dumbledore. And the brat was crying now, mixed in with apologies and mindless blabberings. Something about how he wished he could have been there earlier. Snape's lips twitched upward. Harry looked up in time to see it, brows bunched in agony, emerald eyes spilling emotions Snape had only dared wish to come from the boy's mother.
"The…inca…n..tation…I show…I showed you…earlier.." the Potions Master wheezed, choking, the taste of blood filling his mouth. Harry whipped out his wand instantly, knowing exactly what to do. Snape rose a hand slowly onto Harry's wand, bewildered greens staring at blacks.
"I-If y-I-If I …don't…" Harry interrupted by shoving the hand away and immediately began the slow chanting, murmuring the phrases over and over, wand glazing over the black form. His mind was set into concentration, focusing on replenishing the man of his lost blood, and life.
Both of Snape's hands came up this time, catching Harry's own. "It's not…your fault…"
Harry resisted the urge to break down and cry. Tears were already being rebellious to their master, falling one after the other and dropping onto the dying man's robes. "Shut up, Snape.," he gritted out, containing himself. "Shut up and let me do this." He once again removed his hands from the older male, forcing himself to continue with the incantation, reciting word for word what the professor had taught him.
They were simple phrases that repeated until all was back in place, but the words stumbled out like some kind of newborn unable to speak from Harry's quivering lips. "Curare corporis. Sana animum tuum. Sana spiritus tuus."
Snape concentrated on the boy's moving lips, forming the words he taught him, feeling a sense of appraisal to the Potter. The words drifted over his unmoving body, encasing it in a small glow, wrapping its arms warmly into its haven.
"Curare corporis. Sana animum tuum. Sana spiritus tuus." Severus sighed, lids growing heavy from the overfill of peace building within him. Harry stopped abruptly, taking that as a sign of something else.
Green eyes watched as black eyes glazed over and became covered. "Sn-Snape?" Harry whispered, his wand teetering on the edge of his fingertips. He tried again. "Severus?" Black eyes flung open at the sound of the name, narrowing at the Gryffindor boy who, instead of being drawn back by the sudden glare, broke into a pained smile and grabbed the lying man by the scruff of his collar.
"Don't. Do. That." Every word syllabized with a certain heated resentment, not towards the person themselves, but to the actions that were unwanted. Harry did not want Snape to die, and he glared absolute into dark eyes which seemed to understand, a small curve of a supposed smirk creeping along the edge of the professor's lips.
The boy released his hold and began the chanting again, murmuring softly the incantations. Snape continued to watch, black eyes never moving…never moving…always staring. This was making it quite difficult for Harry to finish. He was about to tell him to look in the other direction when he was fiercely grabbed and shaken.
"Potter, wake up, damn you! Don't you dare- Potter!"
Harry woke, slowly but surely, groaning for the upteenth time as reality closed in around him. The shaking hadn't ceased. "Potter! Look at me!" the low, trembling voice ordered, the hands on his shoulders gripping fiercely, and painfully. He tried to bat away those opposing hands, to no avail.
"LOOK AT ME, I SAID!"
Grumpily and with struggle, Harry obliged, his lids heavy with sleep and fatigue. It was at that moment Harry knew something was wrong. His body wouldn't move, and that blasted searing headache he had never wanted back reminded him of what year he was locked in. The years when Voldemort began his rise again.
Black eyes stared down at him, dark brows furrowed in some sort of worriment. The shaking stopped, though the grip tightened. Harry winced.
"Sn-Snape?"
"Do not move, do you understand me, Potter? Stay awake and Do. Not. Move," came the next order. The boy could only nod, if he done that at all, feeling his body completely lifeless at the moment, eyes closing.
"Potter!"
He snapped them back open, dark eyes glowering into his soul. "I'm up, I'm up," he pushed out, feeling his throat grate in the words, doing his damnest to clear it up. Why did he feel so much like shit right now? It was akin to how he felt after Auror training, breathless and worn, wanting nothing more but to sleep the rest of the day away.
Snape's breathing was ragged and fast, Harry taking in the odd way the older wizard had somehow situated himself on his bed, on him. Snape was towering above him, hands still in a tight grip on his shoulders. Long, lean legs straddled him, leaving Harry himself hardly any room to do anything at all, not that he could anyway.
His head lolled to the side, suddenly feeling uncomfortable at the close proximity of Snape's body against his. Of course, the only body parts that were touching were his thighs against Snape's knees and the man's awful hold on his shoulders.
Black hair curtained his face and he abruptly turned to face an onslaught of emotions in those black eyes of his professor: hurt, betrayal, revenge, envy, sorrow, and what caught Harry off guard… lust.
Before he could register the meaning, thin lips ground against his own, teeth scraping harshly against his bottom lip. Harry moved to push away the contradicting attack, but felt his arms leaden to do any such act. He was weak and the lips that hungrily sucked the air out of him became aggravatingly rougher.
"Mmph-Shto-p! Mmmnnnph!" Harry shouted hoarsely against the inhuman force pinning him down on the bed.
Snape pulled away to whisper faintly in Harry's reddened ear.
"Did you forget that there's a consequence to all of this, Harry Potter?" Not Mister Potter, but Harry Potter. The boy shuddered uncontrollably at his name being said through those lips. Snape sneered. "Nothing ever comes free, Harry Potter. Nothing." Then a long, wet tongue so alien swept along Harry's cheek, leaving saliva tracks from his chin to the edges of his hair on his forehead. There was no way to describe how utterly disgusted he felt at that moment.
"It's time to pay your dues," those wretched thin lips grinned evilly, eyes of shimmering blue holding him paralyzed in the bed. Blue, not black. So beautiful, those blue eyes. Sparkling and falling, falling, falling…
Harry suddenly found himself staring at the Hourglass, watching its beautiful contents fall ceremoniously slow to the bottom. He looked around, no longer laying down, but standing in the midst of some strange house. It was then he caught the crib, the side table, the burnt wood and accumulated mass amounts of dust, dirt, and moss.
Harry was back at home in Godric's Hollow. Empty and void, save for the Hourglass and himself.
He turned back to the well-crafted object, green eyes scaling it, then pausing, uncertain at a symbol he had not seen before. His mouth fell slack and his heart hammered against his ribcage. Oh, shit.
"You are most welcome, my friend. Most welcome, indeed," a raspy, soft voice came from behind him.
Harry spun on his heel to come face-to-face with a dark figure, hiding in the shadows near the doorway. He took a step back, fingers touching the edges of the Hourglass. He could have sworn he felt something on contact, but it had disappeared before it could even be registered.
The figure did not move. "Harry Potter," the airy voice continued, making the air around them shift even colder. "You are a very peculiar young being to be able to coax my lovely into granting your wishes. Peculiar, yes, very."
Harry opened his mouth to reply, but found he couldn't. Found that he didn't know what to say. Lovely?
An echoing laugh resounded around them. "Yes, yes. My lovely, my lovely." The form stepped forward and Harry had to stifle a gasp and groan of horror.
A skeletal foot had proceeded out of the shredded worn robes of the wearer, the sound of bones crackling and grinding against each other, and Death began to walk towards him.